Reflecting on the Ruthless Elimination of Hurry

Ruthless elimination. It’s an aggressive approach. It brings to mind “no quarter” on the battlefields of yesterday. Yet the antagonist is perplexing. Hurry? What did hurry ever do to you? And how can you eliminate it? Does this mean we must remove all instances of hurry from our lives? Well. Yes and no. There is a time and a place for hurry. But to live your entire life in a hurried state, never being present, run ragged by the busyness of schedules and meetings and shopping and social media and binge watching Netflix and frequently picking up fast food because there just possibly is not enough time to cook an actual meal – that is hurry. And that is what we are called to eliminate. To honor Jesus. To glorify Him. 

I must admit, I read this book twice within a span of six months. I never do that. I mean, I read books multiple times. But I often wait at least a year or two in-between reads. But this year was different. And I needed to read it again (I’m still missing things, but the second read was more illuminating than the first, especially after what I went through). You see, the first time I read it, I knew I was overworking and on the path to burnout, but I couldn’t stop. I read it while on a vacation trip. I should say THE vacation trip of the summer, which was only a long weekend. I don’t really rest, or stop, or sit, or relax. I keep grinding. I started the book on the trip, spending most of an afternoon sitting on a deck in the woods, breathing in nature. It was amazing. It was exactly what a sabbath should be. And then I came home, and went back to my oldish ways, with only minor adjustments.

Fast forward two months, and I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. My mind is literally spinning in the evenings. I feel detached from my mind and body. It is burnout and depression all wrapped up in a ball of anxiety. I wake up each morning immediately consumed by what the day will bring. And so at the urging of coworkers I take a few days off, and re-read this book. Except I don’t. I don’t actually re-read this book again until the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Which in retrospect, is a fabulous time to read it. Advent, the season of waiting and hope. The season we are bombarded by commercialism and consumerism. The season where we should be stopping and pausing more than ever, but are caught up in the rat race of completing projects before the end of the year. And so I picked up the book again. My mind has calmed down to the point I can process thoughts again. I’m healing and able to let myself feel again. And this time, the words sink in. They speak to a weary soul, always running to the next thing, never fully present in the moment. Always reaching for more, not material things, but more accolades, more knowledge, more learning, more running, to be faster, stronger, smarter, more competent, more intelligent, more capable, more…you get the picture. Not exactly living as Jesus did. 

Cue John Mark Comer, who says “in America you can be a success as a pastor and a failure as an apprentice of Jesus; you can gain a church and lose your soul.” I was on the path to losing my soul. I was not really living. To me giving my best for Christ meant excelling in my work, performing at a high level and giving the credit to Jesus. Then others would see the excellence in me and wonder where it came from, and I could point them to Jesus. In theory. But that isn’t actually what the Bible says. That isn’t actually how Jesus lived. It said Jesus was sinless, not that He became the most successful craftsman in Palestine. I was hurrying towards, what exactly? 

Comer frames the elimination of hurry around a passage in the book of Matthew, where Jesus says “for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” But to me, it doesn’t feel light. It feels really hard to live for Jesus. It is draining trying to not make mistakes. Duh Job, that’s why grace exists. And that’s the whole point. To give the yoke to Jesus, for Him to carry it for us. We don’t need to be rushing, hurrying, skipping life’s moments that He orchestrated for us to experience. I was falling into the great danger that John Ortberg talks about: 

“For many of us the great danger is not that we will renounce our faith. It is that we will become so distracted and rushed and preoccupied that we settle for a mediocre version of it. We will just skim our lives instead of actually living them.”

Let that sink in. I was so focused on the works of my hands that I forgot to let my soul breathe. I forgot to let my soul sing. I forgot to live in community. My soul yearned for more, but no matter how many emails I responded to, how effectively I worked, it was never satisfied. And so as I read this book, I found myself in a similar pit of despair and depression that John Mark Comer found himself in when he decided to let go and slow down. 

Comer proposes, no, asserts that the way we are called to live and follow Jesus is to slow down and orient your life around three basic goals:

1. Be with Jesus
2. Become like Jesus
3. Do what He would do if He were you

This is how we live deliberate lives modelled after Jesus’ lifestyle. It requires intentionality. It takes surrender. It means doing less to live more. And that makes me very uncomfortable. I can’t sit still on the couch very long, just ask my spouse. I’m always up and moving around, doing chores, writing on LinkedIn, or playing a game. Anything to feel productive and useful as a soul on this broken earth. There is so much brokenness I feel selfish if I stop to rest instead of giving my whole being in service to God’s plan of restoration. I didn’t always feel this way. There was a point in time that I spent 20-40 hours a week playing games or binging Netflix. Yep. But over the last two years I woke up. Something deep inside said there was more to life. I threw myself into work, into learning, into growing in faith, and it changed me. I LOVED it. I loved working late hours at work. I felt like I was making a difference. I felt alive because I was productive. I served a purpose. I was serving God’s purpose. But when I started spiraling, and people said I wasn’t me anymore, I knew I needed another change. I couldn’t let work consume me anymore.

The driving question is really, not how much can I produce, but how would Jesus do this? Enter in the spiritual disciplines. Or at least that is what Comer calls them. The end is not to live a life consumed by the disciplines. That becomes legalism (a lifestyle I am very familiar with). No. It is “to live life to the full with Jesus.” The habits and practices of Jesus are not an end to themselves, but methods of “how we open our minds and bodies to a power far beyond our own and effect change.” And because the noise of the modern world is a cancer in our soul, by drowning out the voice of God, we must be intentional and aggressive (ruthless, remember?) in approaching these practices if we are to eliminate hurry. The four practices are: silence and solitude, sabbath, simplicity, and slowing. 

Silence and solitude comes from the ancient Greek concept of eremos, which can be a quiet place, wilderness, or lonely place. Comer paints a picture of the wilderness being a place of strength for Jesus, which is why He often retreated there in the scriptures. In the wilderness, the quiet place, we are able to connect and commune with God the Father. And from Him we draw our strength to do the work we are called to do. In 1st Kings Elijah was drawn to the mountain of God, where God appeared to him as a “still small voice.” That still small voice holds a thunderous power, but we need to quiet our hearts to be able to hear it. Of the disciplines Comer covers, solitude and silence is the easiest for me to be onboard with. I was already practicing the discipline before I read this book, and not just because I’m an introvert, but because I was experiencing strength and power from my time in quiet prayer with the Author of Humanity. 

Over the past two years I have learned to love stepping into solitude, except it has been difficult to incorporate as a regular practice. Once or twice per week at the most, often far less, because it requires time and intentionality. I don’t quite practice it like Comer, and that’s OK. The point isn’t to practice the discipline for the sake of the discipline, but to experience the power and might of Christ from spending time with Him. For me, that looks like turning off the lights and sitting or kneeling in darkness. I put on headphones and listen to worship music to quiet my heart for fifteen to thirty minutes. When I feel still, I turn off the music, remove my headphones, kneel with my face to the carpet, or hug my knees, and wait. With a still heart I begin to hear the voice of God speaking truth into my soul. His presence overwhelms me and I feel invigorated, ready to serve Him. But guess what? I neglected it for too long. I wasn’t in solitude or eremos regularly. And the intrusive thoughts overcame my heart. I was no longer able to quiet myself to be able to hear His voice. I couldn’t feel the presence of God anymore. It was a dark time in September of 2024. It is still difficult for me to steal away and be in stillness with God, but after that experience I know all too well the consequences if I neglect it. Ironically during my nervous breakdown, solitude was one thing that would have kept me grounded, because solitude is “how you open yourself up to God.” Instead, I was harboring negative thoughts and ideas, and not being honest with God. Not letting the yoke and burden be easy and light, but putting it all on my shoulders to carry. 

The second discipline is that of sabbath. Sabbath as a day of rest, not rest from work but rest TO work. A way to slow down and enjoy and delight in God. It is a way of being in the world, not relegated to a single day. Comer points out a truth that I realized long ago, in that we cannot experience everything the world has to offer. We can’t do it all, be it all, or live it all. Things will remain unfinished, like Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony. And yet I still try to finish it all, and hold myself to an unattainable standard. In my mind it is possible to complete all the work at my job and be finished. But it never happens. There is always more. I was running on a treadmill (metaphorical – I love running but not on treadmills)  as fast as I could to complete all the work and bring glory to God. But that isn’t how we bring glory to God. We bring glory by being obedient. And what does God command? That we rest. That we sit with Him and be still. The sabbath is a day set apart, a day of holiness for us to experience all the good things that God has given us. 

I grew up in a family that as an idea lived the sabbath, except we were too legalistic about it. We took Sundays off. No homework. No work (except for my dad, who was a pastor). No shopping. No eating out (because we didn’t want anyone else to have to work). No running (was considered work…). Just play. Reading. Watching movies. Eating brownies, ice cream, cookies, popcorn, candy. Whatever you enjoyed. We had a great time. When I graduated high school and went to college I continued this tradition. I never did any homework on Sunday during college. But this is where I was legalistic. Instead, I would set alarms for 2am on Monday morning if I needed to finish a paper or study for a test and ran out of time Saturday night. I did this several times. It was horrible. I would try to relax and play computer games all Sunday to enjoy my “sabbath,” all while fretting over the paper I had due the next day, not knowing if I would have enough time in the morning to finish it. Did God really call me to live that way? A funny thing happened though. I honored God with sabbath in college, and I felt blessed. My work was always done on time. I was getting good grades. I was spending less time than others on my studies but excelling academically. It felt like God’s hand was on me, because I honored Him with my sabbath rest. 

Then I went to grad school. I tried to continue the sabbath. But I started running on Sundays. Running was fun, so why not? Sometimes I ran races on Sundays. And one time I worked on a paper that was due on Monday. I felt like I betrayed my ideals, but I also felt like I didn’t have a choice. It felt like I could honor God by doing well on the paper by working on it on Sunday, rather than misrepresent Him by turning in an incomplete the next day. These were the mental gymnastics I wrestled with in my perception of what sabbath is. I was (mostly) missing the point. God wanted so much more for me than this! God created a day for me to experience all that He is, all that He gives me, and prepare my heart for all that He was going to do in it. Yet I never spent my sabbaths with God. It was all about me having fun and resting FROM work, instead of resting to bring myself TO work. 

I often now practice solitude and stillness with God on Sunday as a form of sabbath. Not the whole day, but an hour in the evening. It prepares my heart and restores my soul in ways that nothing else does. I go for runs, but I don’t think of them as training runs. I let myself relax and often do something fun, like run leisurely on a trail, or explore a new place. And since reading this book, and recovering from a nervous breakdown, I’m more present with my family on the weekend. I’m putting my phone down. I’m crawling around with my toddler. I’m sitting with my spouse and rubbing her feet. I’m trying a new recipe. I still am doing chores: laundry, dishes, cleaning, because it feels like there is no other time to do these things. But I’m taking deep breaths, and not being stressed. In fact, doing these acts of service is a way for me to love my family and not be consumed with satisfying my fleshly desires. And recently I discovered something new that rejuvenates my soul to practice sabbath. When my son refuses to lay down for a nap, I put him in the car, drive to a local park, and sit and read. He falls asleep in the five minute drive there, and I can read in peace while he sleeps and soak in the creation around me. I find myself looking forward to these times, while before I would be anxious if I didn’t get to login to one of my favorite computer games and play for a few hours. And I am being changed by this discipline. As Comer states, “people who keep sabbath live all seven days differently.”

Now for the harder disciplines. The third one is simplicity, a concept oriented around reducing the materialistic nature that consumes our waking moments. Simplicity is the salve for materialism. Not that I am overly materialistic, I didn’t grow up with as much as other Americans. Nor did I grow up with the mindset of wanting more “things.” Sure, I want more LEGOs, more Warhammer figurines, more books, more mp3s…..Okay you got me. But I never wanted a nicer car. I don’t measure my worth on the things I have, or don’t have, in terms of material. I’m perfectly content with our house. With our vehicles. With the clothes I’ve been wearing for ten years. Comer says the key to simplicity is to reduce what we have based on these criteria:

1. Anything that does not add value to my life
2. Anything that does not spark joy
3. Anything we no longer use and love

While I consider myself a person who lives more sparsely than most, I have a lot of work to do in this arena. I have many things that do not add value. I hoard things that do not spark joy. I have things I haven’t used (or never used….) for years. And on the contrary, I have very little that DOES spark joy. I never viewed the material in this way. Again, some of the truths Comer includes were adjacent concepts to what I grew up with. But they weren’t an attempt to live sparsely to be like Jesus. It was an attitude of being careful of our money, because we had very little. And ironically, not spending money became a sort of idol for us. I remember one time I received $20 for my birthday. I must have been about nine years old. While at Wal-Mart, I really wanted a Ken-sized Star Wars Darth Maul doll. It cost $20, and I had birthday money I could spend on it. My mother said we should go home and think about it first, instead of buying it then and there. Do you know what happened? After a week, I didn’t want it anymore. And at that time I realized that if I had bought it, I would have played with it for probably only a week or two, and then become bored with it. My mother’s wisdom embodied a truth of simplicity. Now apply this approach to everything. That is simplicity. Except allow yourself to buy things, if they add value, spark joy, or be something that will bring you love (deep love and joy, not superficially filling your house with things for a brief rush, but real deep-down soul-welling joy and contentment). I’ve taken to allowing myself to buy little things that bring my joy, as I heal on this journey out of depression. While I need to reduce what I have and sort through it all, I notice my heart changing. Things no longer fulfill me. I crave community and experiences with others, not more things to fill my house. This is becoming like Jesus. 

The last discipline is the most difficult for me. So much so I’m not sure I’ve made any progress. It is the act of slowing. Yes, eliminating hurry requires slowing down the pace of our lives. I hate it. I run fast, walk fast, work fast, drive fast, eat fast, shower fast, dress fast, read fast, type fast, listen to fast music (EDM)…you get the picture. Just the other week I went into a Kohl’s to see if they had any ugly Christmas sweaters. A mother and her daughter were in front of me in the aisle, and the mother turned and saw me rapidly approaching. She pulled her daughter off to the side and said “wait, that man is in a hurry.” And I thought to myself, “I’m always in a hurry.” I always have someplace to be, something to do, and I’m not going to walk 2 mph when I can walk 5 mph. Even when I hike, I hike fast, because it allows me to see more. Except I miss things along the way. 

Slowing down is excruciatingly difficult for me. I feel like I’ve built my reputation and identity around being fast. Growing up being a fast runner was all people knew me as. In the workplace being efficient and completing tasks quickly garnered respect and admiration. Now I’m supposed to slow down? But that means, who am I if I’m not fast? Will people still like me? Will people still want me? I’m having an identity crisis in this discipline. But it is slowly (sic) infiltrating my system. I’m stopping to breathe. I’ve started integrating box breathing into my life. I use 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 for box breathing. Breathe in on “rejoice always.” Hold your breath on “pray without ceasing.” Exhale slowly on “give thanks in all circumstances.” Then repeat. It slows me down. It quiets my thoughts (hey! That’s part of solitude). Yes, these disciplines all work together to eliminate hurry. They are symbiotic. I’m taking some of Comer’s ideas and not always getting in the shortest line. I’m not always looking at my phone, but just standing and observing, taking in what is unfolding around me. You ever just sit and look out the window? I used to when I was younger. I suspect slowing down will be a continuous battle for years, dare I say decades to come? But my soul wants to be full.

When I read the book the first time I jotted down notes and a few thoughts and I said this: “I would be ruthless if I viewed hurry as the enemy, or at least the weapon of the enemy — but hurry is the one thing I do best.” Hurry is the one thing I do best. At least that is how I viewed myself six months ago. That sums up how I became burned out, depressed, with severe anxiety, always crying, and with a mind fracturing and splintering. Hurry. Hurry led me to that state. But according to God, hurry is not one of my attributes of how He defines me. Through solitude, I’ve let God speak His truth into me, to define who I am on His terms, not on mine.  These are the ways God sees me: sentimental, persevering, wise, intentional, proactive, reflective, deep thinking, and loves narrow but deep. These are attributes that help me live out these four disciplines the way God intended. God did not make me to rush through life, hurrying to the next thing, but to lean into who He made me to be. To be reflective. To persevere. To reflect. To ponder deep things. To love others deeply, not casting a wide shallow net but to really love in a tight circle. And when I hurry, I squash these attributes. 

Stillness. Sabbath. Simplicity. Slowing. This is how we become like Jesus. This is how He restores the world and gathers His sheep into His fold. I have a long journey ahead. Will you partner with me in ruthlessly eliminating hurry?